Bell’s Chime for the Lonely
by Manerva Silvertooth
Summary: Chris finds himself in the positions that the Bell family had faced almost two centuries ago. Fanfic continuation of the movie "An American Haunting".
1. Prologue

I, of course, do not own the story of the Bell witch but I have taken creative liberties here. Much liberties seeing as I don't know if a Mrs. Bell grew hyacinths...maybe it's pansies. One will never know lol.

Hope you enjoy this! I'd love any feed back.

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_There is a legend passed down through the families of Adams, Tennessee, that close to two centuries ago the Bell family was plagued by a series of mysterious events. The family was said to be plagued by a creature with the body of dog and the head of a rabbit (thought to be a witch's familiar). After John Bell Sr. had shot the creature one night, the family began experiencing strange scratching and growling noises at night. Several nights afterwards their youngest daughter, Betsy Bell, started to experience noises in her bedroom. The spirit started getting stronger and stronger as the nights grew on. It had gotten to a point that the family had to call in a local priest but that only seemed to provoke the spirit. It started to harass Betsy by moving and throwing various objects in her room. Sadly the family didn't believe her tales and screams of horror during the night to be true and the priest was present only to try to force the daughter to see that she was just imagining the ordeal. One night her screams became too much for the family to bare and they rushed into the room only to find Betsy hanging from the ceiling. Hanging as though a tall man was holding her by the wrists. Only there was no man, there was only Betsy in the room. Her mother suddenly collapsed to the floor, not able to believe the sight of an invisible hand that slaps her daughter's face over and over again. Soon after the family moved Betsy down into the family room so they may watch over her. Sadly that didn't seem to help. Betsy went into fits as soon as night fell and the strange scratching and growls could be heard throughout the house. One night Mr. Bell grabbed his gun out of desperation and ran out of the door determined to hunt down the creature that was tormenting his family. That was the last time they ever saw him alive._

_They say that during the funeral the Bell Witch laughed and taunted the pastor. So much so that the ceremony was the last he did before leaving the town of Adams as quickly as he could, in fear of bringing the Bell curse upon himself._

_Now the story is but a tale that mothers tell their children if they misbehave. Tales of how the Bell Witch would steal them away at night and do terrible things to them. And it's just a story, right?_

_It was 1935 and the descendants of the Bells still lived on the estate of course. It had been in the family for generations and all was peaceful. They knew that something besides living was in the house due to the odd thing being taken from one room and showing up in another. Sometimes even chairs moved around of their own accord in the dinning-room. That was…until Mrs. Bell found some bones of what she thought was a dog buried in the garden she was tending to. Just thinking it was an old pet, she found a clean cloth and took all the bones she could find and made a little bundle. Later that night she showed the bones to her husband saying that she couldn't stand the thought of her hyacinths growing over top of this poor creature and asked Mr. Bell to take the bones to a local pet cemetery._

_Not wanting to argue he did just that the next day on his way to work. He dropped off the bones at the cemetery and described how his wife had come across it. The grounds keeper took the box Mr. Bell had placed the bones in gingerly, asking if that's what he really wanted to do. Perplexed by old Mr. Watson's hesitation he said that he didn't really care what he did with the bones. As long as they were off his property and away from his wife's garden he didn't really care. Mr. Watson stood looking at the box, a slight tremor in his body. Before he was able to discuss further Mr. Bell left saying he should mark the new grave with a small cross. Enough to show respect but nothing too fancy._

_Left to his own devises old Mr. Watson took the bundle as far as he could on the plot of land that was his cemetery and buried it with the utmost respect. Making sure to leave plenty of light left in the day to make it home safely._

_That night the Bells were eating dinner when they started hearing this odd growling outside. Mr. Bell took it upon himself to check it out, if only for their peace of mind. He couldn't find any creature though, even though it sounded like it was just outside. The nights that followed only got worst. The growls grew louder and something started scratching on the door and windows at night. Soon after objects started flying towards the couple at night. Mr. Bell bought a few groceries and was driving home in his old truck one night and he could have sworn that as soon as he hit the property he could hear this otherworldly laugh. It just didn't sound right. Didn't sound entirely human._

_That night was the last night that any one ever saw the Bells. Rumors have it that they killed themselves in desperation to rid themselves of the spirits. Others say it's the spirit of the Bell Witch who killed them. No bodies were ever found and no rational cause of their disappearance was ever found by the local authorities._

_Even now no one really knows what happened that fateful night. The house, as well as the property, has fallen into disarray. The house looks like it's barely held together. No one has been willing to live on that property since the "accident". And the legend that is Bell Witch has slowly left the minds of the people of Adams, Tennessee. Only the odd thrill seeker or claimed ghost hunter has dared walk near the house. They say that even now, late at night, one can hear the cackle of the Witch deep within the forest on windy nights on the Bell Estate._

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Well there you go. The prologue to this story. Hope you guys like it, and I thought I'd throw in a bit of Chapter 1 so you guys have a bit more to chew on until I'm able to update again.

Chapter 1

"…one can hear the cackle of the Witch deep within the forest on windy nights on the Bell Estate." Chris finished reading his submission to Mr. Wallace, G for George, Wilconson, the chef and editor of the Sunset Herald. "Well how do you like that?" He looked up at Wallace, taking a swig from the glass of water that was on Mr. G's desk.

Taking one look at Chris would say that he's nervous, but nervous wouldn't describe what he was really feeling. It was more like a mixture of nervousness and fear. He hated Wallace's room because it always made him feel this way. Mr. G always had this way of making sure that everything was spotless and in its place. He was probably Tide or Swiffer's Man of the Year (If they had such a reward). The place was too neat, too perfect. It always reminded him of a hospital room more than an editor of the local newspaper's room. Though it probably didn't help that he had spent the last week trying to come up with a good topic and spent writing and re-writing his submission. Chris ran a hand through his dirty brown hair. He had stayed up the whole night trying to make his work perfect enough but it felt like he had a couple of anvils resting on his eyes.

"Well I'm not going to lie to you Chris," Wallace started.

_Uh huh, this isn't going to be good._

"The over all concept is fine but I'm just not feeling the story. You know what I mean right?"

"I thought I presented it finely. To the point, covers the story without killing it-"

"But does it really draw people in?" Wallace cut in, "It's great and all that you pulled out Wikipedia and a few websites you found on Google but you don't have any quotes. Nothing here from first hand experience. Nothing."

Chris leaned back in his chair; "I get the feeling this is going somewhere."

"I'll get Emily to make a few calls and send you out to this witch place as soon as possible."

Chris perked up a bit hearing her name. He had spent a couple of not so lonely nights with her and the feelings came flooding back to him. That was until he remembered hearing Wallace here getting it on with her in this very room late one night. "What ever you say, pooky."

Wallace slammed his hands down hard on the table, knocking Chris's glass of water over. "You're walking on a fine line there Chris. You know as much as I that I don't particularly like you. But I have no choice but to publish you're new-age, mumbo jumbo, garbage because you're Dad is the head of the company. If it were up to me you're sorry ass would be out on that curb. But I digress. You just keep that mouth of yours closed and get a decent story."

Chris rose from his chair calmly and picked up his coat and bag, " I'll be waiting for that call there. But remember that I'm not the only one walking on thin ice." With that he left Wallace's perfect little office.


	2. Chapter 1

So like I said before, I don't own An American Haunting, blah blah blah. Also I'm throwing in the first part of chapter one just to keep everything together. Remember! Reviews are ftw! I'd love to hear any feed back.

Chapter 1

"…one can hear the cackle of the Witch deep within the forest on windy nights on the Bell Estate." Chris finished reading his submission to Mr. Wallace, G for George, Wilconson, the chef and editor of the Sunset Herald. "Well how do you like that?" He looked up at Wallace, taking a swig from the glass of water that was on Mr. G's desk.

Taking one look at Chris would say that he's nervous, but nervous wouldn't describe what he was really feeling. It was more like a mixture of nervousness and fear. He hated Wallace's room because it always made him feel this way. Mr. G always had this way of making sure that everything was spotless and in its place. He was probably Tide or Swiffer's Man of the Year (If they had such a reward). The place was too neat, too perfect. It always reminded him of a hospital room more than an editor of the local newspaper's room. Though it probably didn't help that he had spent the last week trying to come up with a good topic and spent writing and re-writing his submission. Chris ran a hand through his dirty brown hair. He had stayed up the whole night trying to make his work perfect enough but it felt like he had a couple of anvils resting on his eyes.

"Well I'm not going to lie to you Chris," Wallace started.

_Uh huh, this isn't going to be good._

"The over all concept is fine but I'm just not feeling the story. You know what I mean right?"

"I thought I presented it finely. To the point, covers the story without killing it-"

"But does it really draw people in?" Wallace cut in, "It's great and all that you pulled out Wikipedia and a few websites you found on Google but you don't have any quotes. Nothing here from first hand experience. Nothing."

Chris leaned back in his chair; "I get the feeling this is going somewhere."

"I'll get Emily to make a few calls and send you out to this witch place as soon as possible."

Chris perked up a bit hearing her name. He had spent a couple of not so lonely nights with her and the feelings came flooding back to him. That was until he remembered hearing Wallace here getting it on with her in this very room late one night. "What ever you say, pooky."

Wallace slammed his hands down hard on the table, knocking Chris's glass of water over. "You're walking on a fine line there Chris. You know as much as I that I don't particularly like you. But I have no choice but to publish you're new-age, mumbo jumbo, garbage because you're Dad is the head of the company. If it were up to me you're sorry ass would be out on that curb. But I digress. You just keep that mouth of yours closed and get a decent story."

Chris rose from his chair calmly and picked up his coat and bag, " I'll be waiting for that call there. But remember that I'm not the only one walking on thin ice." With that he left Wallace's perfect little office.

That was the last memory that popped into Chris's mind. It must have been about a week or two since he's been at that God-awful office and now here he was, sitting on some sofa that smelt like mothballs. In a room that stunk of old cigarettes of times gone by. Chris started to absent-mindedly look around at his surroundings. He was in a room that was part covered in old doilies, part cat hair and part dust; with what looked like generations worth of family photos throughout the room, also covering in and inch of dust.

"Are you even listening to me boy?"

Chris brought his attention back to the grizzled woman he was interviewing. "I'm sorry?" He shuffled his papers trying to make it look like he was trying to catch up on what she was saying. He couldn't believe what was going on. He figured that when he submitted his submission that he would be wandering around the Bell estate late at night to try to find anything, like the Blair Witch Project really, instead Wallace had 'gone out of his way' to try to book every person who claimed to have experienced anything. Sadly for Chris, that meant every old person in two. Right now he was in the presence of Mrs. Sanderson, the town's historian. She looked more like one of those typical crazy cat ladies that live in run down homes. Her hair was a mess, like it hadn't been brushed in a century, she always had a cat or two around her not to mention the cat that seemed to always be perched on her and her clothes…well…let's just say there was a sale at Vintage Barn and she had made sure to buy everything that was cheap and just kind of pieced it together.

"Do you seriously think by shuffling your damn papers around that I wouldn't notice that you're not listening to me? Do you like that because I'm old I'm stupid?" Mrs. Sanderson tapped on her cigarette sharply, almost snapping the poor thing in half.

"No, please Mrs. Sanderson that's not it at all. I was just trying to piece together my thoughts and get my papers in order."

"Alright then Mr. Thorton what was the last thing I was talking about?" She straightened up in her chair and smirked over to Chris, obviously knowing what was about to happen.

"Um, well…"Chris shuffled through his papers again. He had no idea; she had just started nattering on about her stupid neighbors. How they had decided it was a good idea to put a fence around their backyard. Hardly ground breaking news. He just had to grab at something, anything. "You started talking about the folklore of this place."

"Oh wow." She paused. Looking a bit surprised she looked down at the cat that was purring on her lap "Jacob? Have you ever met someone who was so far wrong before in your life? Oh kitty." She started stroking her cat's back. "Now then Mr. Thorton, are you actually going to be listening or should I kick you out of my house now?"

Chris readied himself over his note pad with his pen to the paper.

"Now then, I was talking about a time when Betsy's mother went up to her room to check up on her daughter. Her mother had a nightmare and awoke to the sound of footsteps on the second floor. Now it was odd mind you, seeing as it was only Betsy besides herself who were in the house, and the footsteps were heavy sounding like a boot. Soon after Betsy started to moan in her room and she called out faintly _Help Me_. Mrs. Bell grabbed the nearest candle and rushed up the stairs all the while her daughter kept calling out to her. Mrs. Bell ran over to her daughter's room and threw open the door to find that her precious child was sound asleep in her bed. Lost to the world of dreams. Comforted by this Mrs. Bell tucked in her daughter, kissed her on the cheek and went to leave the room. When she was closing the door she saw a shadow move across the floorboards of the hallway, cast there by the little light there was in Betsy's room. When Mrs. Bell looked back at her daughter as shadow was over top of her. It wasn't just a shadow on the wall kind of shadow mind you. It was like there was a person there but they were completely black as night. The shadow sensed someone looking at it and looked up at Betsy's mother with red glowing eyes. Mrs. Bell didn't have a chance to think when all of a sudden her candle grew about three feet.

"The next day, Mr. Bell went over to Miss Bette's house and begged for her to lift the curse she had placed on the family."

"Wait a second there," Chris cut in, trying to write everything down. "What do you mean, curse she placed on the family?"

"Well boy, don't you wonder where the name Bell Witch came from? That woman was suspected as a witch and she had put a curse on the family after they had a land dispute and they went to court. Didn't you look up the history before you came bounding around, harassing the fine citizens of Adams?"

"I did," Chris answered defensively, "But I didn't run into any of this in the history books. How do you know this to be true?"

"I know it's true because I have Betsy's diary because it's been in my family for generations."

Chris dropped is pencil and stared at Mrs. Sanderson. This grumpy, mothball and cigarette smelling, crazy cat lady was a Bell?


End file.
